dolor - a short story
by Suzume Suzuki
Summary: Dolor: sorrow, grief, misery, or anguish. The prequel to "The Possibility of Evil" by Shirley Jackson, as a short story rewrite for English class.


[ _dolor_ ]

* * *

I

Miss Adela Strangeworth was born to the distinguishable Strangeworth family, to Mr. Alexander Strangeworth and his wife, Mrs. Maria Strangeworth. Mrs. Strangeworth herself was not from any notable family; instead, she had married into the Strangeworth family with a rather poor background, and it had been met with opposition with other members of the Strangeworth family. But the couple persisted stubbornly and the marriage came to be grudgingly accepted by everyone, and two years later, a daughter was born.

It was a bright summer morning the day of the birth and the windows of the hospital room had been opened to let in the cool morning air. Labor had taken the entire night and was very taxing on Mrs. Strangeworth. She was on the point of breaking when her child was finally brought into the world. Lying prostrate on the bed, the nurse handed her the newborn and with one look, the new mother was infatuated with her babe. As she cooed at the baby, Mr. Strangeworth came bursting through the door. His disheveled appearance looked as if he had negligently combed his hair and put on his tie.

"Maria!" He cried out, his voice audible throughout the entire room and partly into the adjoining hallway, oblivious of the nurses who looked at him with mixed expressions of amusement and annoyance.

"Alex, dear," Mrs. Strangeworth replied more placidly than her husband, "Come meet our daughter."

Her husband dutifully strode over and peered raptly at the babe gurgling in her arms, and for a few heartbeats, he did not speak.

When he finally did, he breathed, "A _daughter_. I hope she will grow up to look like you."

II

"Mother, mother!"

Mrs. Strangeworth turned to glance down at her five-year-old daughter Adela grappling at her legs, her cherubic face lit up in happiness. The child donned a white lace dress, with matching white shoes and stockings, resembling an innocent lamb as she stared up at her mother. They were in the living room; Mrs. Strangeworth had summoned for Adela and her nanny, as well as her husband.

"Careful now," Mrs. Strangeworth said sternly.

Her daughter's nanny scrambled over and gently pried Adela away from her mother, apologizing repeatedly while she struggled to keep her grasp on the antsy child. At that moment, the clicking sound of boots could be heard and Adela immediately stilled. All three females fell silent as the master appeared silently by the door. Upon surveying the people present in the room, Mr. Strangeworth announced, "Good morning ladies, I believe my wife and I have something to discuss. So if you'll excuse us…"

At this, Mrs. Strangeworth smiled and said, "We can discuss it here, dear. Adela will want to hear what I am about to tell you."

A look of surprise crossed his face but was gone quickly and replaced by a quizzical expression. Similar looks arose on both Adela's and the nanny's faces. Mrs. Strangeworth sidled over to her husband and, lightly placing a hand on his arm and turning to face their daughter, she proclaimed that she was expecting a second child.

She was most pleased by her husband's positive reaction.

III

A rolling cry of thunder awoke Mrs. Strangeworth one night. Glancing out the window, she saw that it was still very dark outside. Flashes of lightning cleaving the night sky could be seen as rain poured heavily down upon the window in an incessant beat.

As she groggily sat up, Mrs. Strangeworth felt a sudden chill; something felt very wrong. She peeled off the covers and at the sight of gleaming blood on the bed, was at once lucid.

Her cry of horror roused all the sleeping inhabitants of the Strangeworth house on Pleasant Street. Beside her, Mr. Strangeworth stirred and growled, "What in the blazes…?"

But at the sight of his sobbing wife and at the ruined bed sheets, he realized what terrible event had transpired.

IV

Like the night of the miscarriage, the sky was crying, only softly, the morning of the funeral. The sun had refused to reveal itself that drizzling autumn day.

Little Adela clutched her mother's black dress as she peered down the tiny grave with eyes as wide as saucers, while her mother averted her eyes when the men lowered the miniature coffin into the earth, a hand over her mouth. Adela's father stood with his hands clasped in front beside her mother, his gaze long and grave.

At five, Miss Adela did not quite understand why her parents were so stricken with grief. But she understood enough to feel upset and afraid. When the men began to bury the coffin and when Mrs. Strangeworth began to sob profusely, Miss Adela too, began to cry. Her father remained grimly silent like a statue throughout.

When the funeral finally came to a close and all the guests had departed, Mr. Strangeworth took his wife by the hand and murmured, "There will be more children."

With a gentle tug, he pulled his mourning wife away; their young daughter blindly followed, still not quite understanding.

V

There would be no more children. In the coming years, Mrs. Strangeworth suffered from multiple miscarriages and stillbirths. During those years, she had prayed everyday and supplicated God to let her womb carry and deliver a healthy baby. Alas, it was all in vain; when visited by the doctor, Mrs. Strangeworth was diagnosed to be infertile. When she had been given the news, she had visibly recoiled from the doctor as if he were a monster and charged out of the room, leaving behind Mr. Strangeworth to call out after her.

Mrs. Strangeworth confined herself within her room for days, much to her husband's worry and displeasure, and at first, Miss Adela's confusion. At ten, she was a bit older and wiser. She had learned what it meant to miscarry or give birth to a stillborn, but having never been a parent herself, could not quite sympathize with the misery that seemed to constantly pervade the Strangeworth house on Pleasant Street.

Eventually, Mrs. Strangeworth allowed others to enter her room.

Mr. Strangeworth was the first to see her. He found her sitting by her desk in a degraded state. Her skin had become pallid and her cheeks and eyes were sunken after days of eating and drinking minimally. Her hair was like strands of straw, the very hair she had once been so proud of. In short, Mrs. Strangeworth had been reduced to a miserable, walking skeleton.

At her husband's approach, Mrs. Strangeworth asked in a tremulous voice, "Why is God so derisive and cruel, when he should be warm and loving? What have I done to deserve this?"

Mr. Strangeworth had no answer to supply.

"My poor babes, lost and dead!" Mrs. Strangeworth lamented, "And now I will never hold another child of mine in my arms."

Mr. Strangeworth dawdled.

Almost accusingly, his wife said in a sorrowful tone, "You _promised._ You said there would be more children."

Mr. Strangeworth did not know what words to say to comfort her.

"Go, leave me," Mrs. Strangeworth sighed after a moment of silence.

Mr. Strangeworth left her sitting there at the desk listlessly.

VI

Miss Adela was fifteen when she first met her father's secretary from work, a woman by the name of Miss Lilith Smith. Young, bright, and cheerful, she was the companion Miss Adela longed for. Though she cared for her parents, Miss Adela felt emotionally distanced from them. Mr. Strangeworth was seldom home and when he was, never spoke much and carried a serious expression everywhere. Mrs. Strangeworth had become a shell of her former self and was constantly depressed. It was sweet Miss Lilith Smith who Miss Adela befriended and confided in.

But she was unsure what to do when she discovered Miss Smith alone with her father in his study in the dark of the night.

VII

Miss Adela knew that her mother found comfort with her beloved roses. The beautiful flowers were originally planted by Miss Adela's paternal grandmother, but were nurtured by her mother, as if in place of the children she had lost. Those roses were Mrs. Strangeworth's pride and sole source of solace within the discordant family.

It was in the rose garden that Miss Adela confronted her mother.

"Mother," She said, cautiously broaching the subject, "What do you think of Miss Smith?"

"Oh, she seems to be a gentle, young lady, and such a helpful secretary to your father," Mrs. Strangeworth answered nonchalantly as she carefully clipped her precious roses.

"Mother," Miss Adela persisted, "Shouldn't you be more wary of her?"

At this, Mrs. Strangeworth turned her head to look critically at her daughter.

"And why ever should I be wary of her?"

VIII

Mrs. Strangeworth smiled lightly at the people who greeted her in the grocery.

"Good morning Mrs. Strangeworth."

"Good morning Mr. Lewis, good morning Mrs. Foster."

She hummed as she weaved through the aisles and searched for the objects she wished to buy. But her daughter heard the whispers that floated in the air like gnats and felt the penetrating stares.

Miss Adela set her jaw tightly and closed her eyes. She did not understand how her pitiful mother could turn a blind eye and pretend that everything was alright. She did not understand how her respectable father could dishonor his wife in such a way. She did not understand the façades.

IX

Walking home from school, Miss Adela sighed and let her breath mist in front of her. It was snowing and the snow had already begun to pile up on the sidewalks. The roses in the front lawn of the Strangeworth house on Pleasant Street had already withered and died. Only the thin, skeletal, thorny stalks remained. It was not the first time that Miss Adela wished for winter to hurry and pass as she walked past them and up the porch steps.

It was strangely cold inside when she entered the house. Normally, the nanny would be present to keep the fires going but the old woman had returned home for the holiday.

Seeing the roses made Miss Adela think of her recuperating mother upstairs, for once, and prompted her to check in on her.

The stairs bent and creaked as she padded up the stairs and somewhere, a clock ticked, a reminder of how empty and quiet the house had been for the past years. Miss Adela paused at her mother's room and knocked. When no one answered, she called out loud. When the silence endured, Miss Adela gingerly pushed open the door, finding it unlocked.

"Mother?"

X

It was suicide; a letter had been found beside Mrs. Strangeworth. Facing this death was much harder than facing the deaths of Miss Adela's unborn and stillborn siblings. Miss Adela wondered why she had never spent more time with her mother.

She cried wholeheartedly during her mother's funeral, bitter and remorseful. At her side stood her ever vigilant father. Though he had shed no tears, Mr. Strangeworth was sorry to see his wife of many years pass on. Miss Smith was noticeably absent.

Miss Adela now understood what it truly meant to lose someone close to you. She had not been particularly close with mother, but she was still her daughter and still cared for her. At five she did not understand. At ten, she still did not quite comprehend loss. At sixteen, she understood grief.

XI

Father and daughter stood in front of their house. The wind howled and struck their frozen cheeks like a whip. It rustled through the lawn and through the empty rose bushes.

"I wonder about your mother sometimes," Mr. Strangeworth said out loud, "Although we both lost the same children, I could never understand her total misery. When I first met her, I thought she was a stronger woman. She had done whatever it took for our marriage to be recognized."

"You did not understand her," Miss Adela remarked, "And neither did I."

Silently, she vowed to never live the life her mother had.


End file.
